Pissing off Europeans--splitting 8-8 vs 9
I have the grave misfortune of playing in European casinos. Americans who have never played in Europe should give it try, if only for the laughs.
In the US, everybody knows to always split 88s. At least in my experiences in Vegas, it seemed that even the newbies were told to split their 88s. In Europe, however, Basic Strategy is often unheard of (at least where I usually play). Also, given the ENHC rule which is played in Dutch casinos (I assume), it is incorrect to split 88s against 10 or Ace. So Europeans simply don't know that you should *almost* always split your 88s in this game.
Today I split 88s against the dealer 9. In the ENHC game, this is the only correct time to split 88s where it looks really really bad. Since I play under no heat, I like to show off and confidently make these plays to piss off the others as much as possible. I prepare the casino for my move by standing up from third base and announcing, "ok, nobody have a heart attack just yet [all the other players are old, and I'm young, so I like to rub it in], but I will be splitting my eights. Get ready now, but don't get upset. It is the correct move. My computer [and Stanford Wong!] says so and my computer plays much better than you guys." It should be noted that Europeans are much more likely to get very upset at unusual plays because of the no-hole card rule. They get particularly perturbed when these plays are made at third base, which they believe has a magical power over the dealer's hand. Europeans are quite confident that strange splits destroy whatever luck is floating in the air and that the table is essentially doomed for night after such plays.
Before receiving cards to the split eights, I explain to the table (and 10 or so back-bettors standing behind me), that nothing is worse than 16, and that's a good enough reason to split the 88s (of course, it's more complicated than that, but i felt like making these guys think about it). My first 8 draws a 7--so i have 15. I tell the table "yeah, 15 sucks, but it's still better than 16 so I'm happy I split. I'll take another card please". I catch paint and bust. You can tell everybody at the table is happy to see me bust but somebody astutely mentions that, had I stood, the dealer would've caught the 7 and then the picture to bust. I reply, "look, I'm not going to make mistakes just because it makes you people happy."
Since I don't plan on playing in this casino much longer, I've been shamelessly explaining the odds of my peculiar moves. On this occasion, two of the casino pit bosses were watching. These are not really 'pit bosses' in the Vegas card-counting-catcher sense. These two are just well-dressed casino employees who stand around the tables and chat up the wealthier players. I'm quite sure they know nothing of card-counting or basic strategy. I point to them and say, "look, ask them if it's okay to split 88s against 9. I'm sure they know it's the right move". At this point, the two look at each other with the same blank expressions, shrugging their shoulders as if to say, "what? it can't be right to split 88s against 9??", while nodding their heads as if to say "yes". nobody knew what to think at this point. I had succeeded in raising a little bit of hell, but the hand was not through yet, I still had one eight sitting on the table.
The dealer hands me a 4. I'm not impressed but I remind the audience that a 12 is still better than a 16 against the 9. So I'm still happy that I split. My next card comes, another 4. I have, low and behold, 16. At this point, I decide to back-track a bit by offering the following hypothetical situation for commentary. I note that, had I incorrectly not split my 88s, I would have definitely taken another card against the 9 because that's the right move to make. BUT, if I had taken the next card I would've gotten a 7, which would've made me bust, and the dealer would've gotten the picture, giving him a 19. So I would've lost with my original unsplit 88s. At least now I have a fighting chance of breaking even.
That said, I hit my 16 and get the 5. It is beautiful. It is a 5 of spades. The other players hush in subdued awe.
Now the dealer is still sitting with his 9. Remember, with the ENHC game, if I don't take the 5, then the dealer does giving him 14. Instead, the dealer takes the next card which is a 2. Now a sense of fear encompasses the table. Dealer catches paint, getting a 21 pushing my remaining hand, taking everybody else's money. Of course, somebody reminds us that, had I not taken the 5, the dealer would've busted. I respond to this by saying, "well, I lost one bet and that's what I would've lost if I hadn't split my 88s, so it's just the same to me if the dealer gets a 21. What do I care?"
Two or three players, cursing under their breathes in their respective languages, get up and leave the table. About 5 or 6 back-bettors leave too. Remember, in the US, you can't really piss off more than 6 other players at a time. But in a crowded European table, you can get up to 20 or so people to hate you at once, since most of them are back-betting. This adds a certain sense of enjoyment in playing these moves.
The damage is not completely done just yet. On the next two hands, I get blackjacks and the dealer gets three and four card 21s. Everybody thought I had cursed the table. Most of the remaining players and back-bettors leave the table. My job is done here. I announce to the table, "well, I've won enough for one night. Splitting those 8s really came through for me. See you guys next week."
I should add that I am normally a polite, helpful person. I help tourists stand on 15 against 5, when nobody else there says a thing. I defend other players when they get criticized. And most of all, I do not criticize other players for mistakes. Despite my attempts at being polite, I am consistently insulted by the other players. I learned that I would rather confidently make my moves and let everybody know that I don't care what they think of it. And when I piss them off, good. Most of these players smoke and, with back-bettors included, I'm forced to inhale the equivalent of a pack of marlboro reds in any 6 hour session. Some players lean over you to make back-bets with cigarettes dangling from their mouths, ash falling on your head and shoulders.
I have more stories concerning splitting 10s and hitting Ace-7, but in Europe, there's nothing quite like splitting 8's against 9.
the cheeze
